


Keeping Score

by windchijmes



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 14:49:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1108126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windchijmes/pseuds/windchijmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard and Graham are, well, together <i>together</i>. So is Dean and Aidan. It's the grand open secret among the cast and crew, to the extent that both couples are arranged such that they're bunking in temporary housing right next to each other. And it's all good. </p>
<p>Until Richard and Graham are right in the middle of a tumble one night, and they hear Aidan and Dean also. Fucking. Next door. Rather than get embarrassed about it, Graham and Richard decide to give the kids a lesson in loud sex.</p>
<p>
  <b>(also known as the one where Armitish and Aidean have competitive buggery)</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keeping Score

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for this prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/6124.html?thread=14640620#t14640620

It’s the biggest open secret in the history of open secrets. Well, it started with just Thorin and Dwalin. King and his Warrior. Childhood friends. Lifelong confidantes. Then, it became Richard and Graham partnering each other all the time during training sessions. Yes, and that time Graham carried Richard across his shoulders during a practice and insisting that it really was just training. Yeah, perhaps he didn’t notice his own hand sliding up Richard’s thigh and the blush that refused to leave Richard’s cheeks afterward. All part of training. Whatever.

Now they’re spending all their free time together. Coffee breaks in cafes tucked away in little alleys. Watching movies in foreign languages and discussing them over lunch surrounded by Dwarves and Orcs and the odd Elf or two. Graham leaving Richard’s trailer in the mornings, or Richard not-so-stealthily slipping into Graham’s at night.

The rest of the lads are this close to opening a betting pool just to wager if Graham and Richard are ever going to come clean about their not-relationship.

It’s all good, though, Dean thinks. The more attention the two old _er_ men get, the less focus there is on Dean and – well. He grins to himself and carefully steers his thoughts away from his lover. It’s new territory to them, still.

Besides, there are more significant issues at hand. They’ve just moved locations, and production’s just informed them of their housing arrangements. They’re all moving into temporary terrace houses, built in rows like sardined stacks of dominoes. Richard Armitage and Graham McTavish share the same unit, and the one right _next_ to theirs belongs to Dean O’Gorman and Aidan Turner. _Any problems? Other preferences?_ The four of them laugh easily and shrug their shoulders _no_.

Dean is mildly worried about this new development. He’s not sure what implications there are for the rest of the shoot.

The statistics are fairly alarming, if anyone’s checking. What are the odds of _two_ pairs of co-stars shacking up on one of the biggest movie sets in the world? Why did the powers-that-be deposit the same two pairs of shagging co-stars in side-by-side units with paper-thin bedroom walls? Just _when_ will the stars align and all of them would be caught with their pants down on the same night at the same time?

A shitheap of numbers and questions, there.

But well…Dean shrugs to himself.

Who’s keeping count, really?

++++++++++

The moment they stumble through the doorway with limbs all askew, Graham thinks it’s a royally bad idea. His joints are no longer made for sexual gymnastics, thank you very –

Then Richard fists his hands into Graham’s shirt and kisses him with frantic hunger, all the while backing both of them into the bedroom, without missing a single step, and Graham isn’t doing much thinking anymore. Somewhere along the way, they’ve lost their shirts, Richard deftly stripping them both and running appreciative palms over the defined muscles of Graham’s chest. Somehow Graham has his hands shoved rather indecently far down Richard’s pants, gripping large handfuls of the man’s firm buttocks and – silk – really? – _damn_.

“ _McTavish_ ,” Richard’s voice is low and scorched with desire, and Graham feels himself rumbling in his chest, his lips finding their way to Richard’s neck.

The long, pale column surrenders to Graham’s lips, Richard’s head falling back. Sometimes it’s tender between them. And every now and then, it’s like _this_. Feral. Rough. A satiation of lust. Long, graceful fingers slide into Graham’s boxers and curve around the hardening coil it finds. _God_. The shock of skin against his bare cock almost undoes Graham. He sinks his teeth into the softness above those beautiful collarbones, sucking a bruise into it as Richard twists under him.

There is no gentleness now. Richard’s hand quickens in its work, cunning and demanding as it coaxes Graham’s cock to full hardness. “Graham… _Graham_ …” the man moans throatily, arching up into the punishing caresses Graham is branding into his skin. And he murmurs wordlessly when Graham hauls their lower bodies together, their erections grinding and throbbing between the layers of cloth.

_“Yeah – ah, yeah. That’s it – there – ah – ”_

Those whimpers would have been bloody arousing – except _that’s not Richard’s voice_. And Graham’s pretty fucking sure it isn’t his own either.

Richard’s fingers dig into Graham’s shoulders at the same time as the latter lifts his head confusedly from Richard’s neck. It’s hysterical, and all kinds of fucked up. Graham still has his hands groping Richard’s arse and they _aren’t stopping_ even with his momentary aneurysm. A glance at Richard’s face and Graham wants to put a fist though the wall for being disrupted.

Chiselled lips parted in gasps, points of colour high on his cheeks, and Richard’s eyes glazed with _need_.

To hell with the interruption. Graham is going to give Richard exactly what he’s demanding –

_“God…Dean…open up, babe… there, yeah…”_

Ignoring the fact his penis is about to shrivel up and weep, Graham finds himself gawping. That is without a doubt Aidan Turner’s voice. And, really, Dean _? Opening up - what?_ What are those lads doing next door?

He hasn’t realised he actually said his thoughts out loud, until Richard chuckles a little breathlessly. “Same thing we are, I suppose. Fucking.” It’s beautiful hearing Richard swear in that rich, melodious baritone of his. Better if he’s swearing and moaning Graham’s name at the same time.

But wait – _wait_ , because next door –

In a move so smooth and swift the Oakenshield himself would be proud, Richard surges up against him, and presses their mouths together. “ _Don’t stop now_ ,” he growls against Graham’s lips. Then he pulls away, drawing himself out of Graham’s grip, and lowering himself to the bed. “Give the kids a run for it,” his smile is coquettish, but his eyes flick towards the too-thin bedroom wall, then rivet onto Graham in a way that makes the older man’s knees _weak_.

Somehow not breaking eye contact at all, Richard turns on his knees and rests his hands on the bed rails, displaying himself to Graham. Long, curving back, sleek skin over hard muscles, jeans hanging precariously on hipbones.

Graham hears the sound of a zip being lowered and those jeans slide even further down, revealing full and utterly _luscious_ mounds.

Over his shoulder, Richard’s gaze is both seduction and the slightest hint of coyness that Graham is near powerless to resist. “Get over here,” he commands, eyes bright with anticipation.

Graham is already on the move. He mounts the bed with enough force to rattle the railings and crushes Richard to the wall with ravenous intent. Jeans and silk briefs are shoved down to Richard’s knees, which he nudges further apart with one thigh. He leaves those jeans there. It’s a look Graham favours immensely on his lover. Naked, yet _not quite_.

He has enough control left – just a shred or so remaining – to pull Richard’s face up into a savage kiss. “Thorin’s not walking right tomorrow,” he snarls. Sentimentality be damned. He’s giving a fair warning.

Richard’s teeth scrape across his jaw. “ _Make me scream_.”

++++++++++

_Slam._

The gloriously wicked suction pulls off his cock, and Aidan nearly screams in frustration.

“What was that?” Dean says, sounding genuinely perplexed.

Really. Aidan takes a deep, harsh breath. His vision is still all over the place, vaguely registering that he’s sprawled on the floor with his lover crouched between his legs. Aidan blinks again, and this time, he properly sees himself with his penis out of his pants and straining towards those pretty, reddened lips which hover _just_ out of reach. Somewhere further down south, Dean has his own fingers stuck inside himself, most definitely surely certainly doing something unholy because his hips are angling back at a _rhythm_.

“Dean,” Aidan comes very close to whining. He grips his errant lover by his chin. “A little attention here, yeah?”  Indicating his neglected knob.

The blonde actually laughs. He removes his fingers from his own arse and Aidan’s eyes are helplessly drawn to how shiny they are with lubricant. He imagines them undulating inside Dean’s hole. _Fuck_.

From next door, a loud thump reverberates against the wall, quickly followed by deep, guttural growls. Looks like Graham and Richard aren’t idling tonight either.

“We’re not losing to a bunch of old gits, are we?” Dean teases, shimmying backwards to rest on his elbows. He plants his feet firmly on the floor, wide apart, and beckons Aidan with that affection in his eyes and the wetness gleaming between his arsecheeks. “Ready, Aid. _Come on_.”

Needing no second instruction and possibly breaking some kind of speed record for yanking on a condom, Aidan sprawls over his lover. Though responsive in bed, Dean’s rarely _this_ spontaneous. Something must be extra right – the air is positively vibrating with lust and Dean looks drunk on desire. Aidan isn’t about to complain. When Dean’s in this mood, it is wild and rough and _loud_.

Taking his cock in his hand, Aidan braces it at that sweet pucker calling to him. He takes a moment to simply relish the moment, the feeling of heat tugging at him. Dean’s fingers are clawing convulsively into the flooring. He licks his lips, eyes wide, and when he is completely vulnerable to Aidan for that one second, Aidan pushes into him, cockhead driving inside that tight channel.

A long groan drags from Aidan’s lips, drowned only by the whimpers that Dean is making.

“Aidan…” Dean’s body arcs upwards as he cries out into the penetration.

Right at that moment, the most deafening _bang_ thunders around them. And again. Then _again_. It’s bed rails against the wall – Aidan knows that sound well enough. But it’s the _loudest_ Aidan’s ever heard, damn. What are those – copulating walruses next door?

Aidan stops _everything_ , his cock still midway into Dean. “Hear that?” he manages between strenuous clenches of his teeth. Dean’s going crazy around him, his passage spasming like it’s trying to suck Aidan inside.

“ _Aidan_.” Dean’s head tosses restlessly. His fingers clutch at Aidan’s thigh, both enticement and insistence.

The idea lights up like a bulb in Aidan’s brain. It’s a risk, and a big one. Honestly, he thinks Dean is a gentle soul, but the blonde has his moments. Keeping one hand on Dean’s chest to sooth him, Aidan grips the chair _just_ within his reach and topples it to the floor with a satisfying _clatter_. There you go.

Brownie points for them.

“Fucking hell, Aid!” the blonde hisses as he tries to rise. His face is red now, and sweaty and furious with unfulfilled want. He smacks at Aidan’s hand to toss it off. “Fuck me now or I’m fucking myself!”

It’s a little mortifying but Dean is _quite_ capable of self-fucking on Aidan’s cock. But not tonight, no. So Aidan bucks just another inch inside to shut him up. It isn’t easy for him either. Half of his cock is engulfed in the tightest, most amazing velvet heat, the other half is aching outside, and Aidan is ridiculously turned on by the ferocity snapping in Dean’s eyes.  

“I swear I’m…you…” Dean snarls, then loses momentum and his head drops back again when Aidan grasps his erection. “Little wanker…” he moans, proving himself so very right when Aidan begins petting and stroking the engorged cock in his hand.

“ _Louder_ ,” Aidan leans down and mouths at that little spot just below Dean’s chin, nuzzling it as he lodges himself fully within Dean. “I want them to hear us,” he withdraws just a little, then pistons in again, feeling his balls rubbing against Dean’s buttocks. Warm and dirty and raw all at the same time.

Dean looks at him. His eyes are hazy from the assault on his senses, sweat flushes his cheeks, and he succumbs to need, to their arousal driven impossibly high by the sounds of sex all around them, and knowing they are _being heard_ at the same time. He sighs and lifts his legs to rest on Aidan’s shoulders, opening himself up in invitation.

“Split me open, Aid…” Dean _mewls_ , not unlike a feline in heat, and he’s never sounded like that before.

Aidan is officially enthralled.

++++++++++

A startling sharp series of thuds resound from next door, like furniture skidding across flooring. They are swiftly followed by two voices sniping at each other like bickering puppies, then making up with sweet whispers and whimpers.

Not bad, really, Richard has to admit.

He hears their every gasp, and if he’s to be honest, takes a certain debased pleasure at imagining a long, lean, dark-haired form twisted around its smaller, blonde partner. Those are all the visuals he manages in his mind. The rest are lost to the thunderous slams of the rails against the wall, and the punishing rhythm Graham is setting for them.

His breathing broken by moans so wanton that they would have mortified him usually, Richard is past caring now. Not when he is spread so wide, and filled so completely and deeply by the massive shaft pounding him into the wall. Reaching back with one unsteady hand, he finds the curve of Graham’s hip and caresses it. He likes the feel of this – muscle bunching under his touch, each flex echoed by a hard, unerring thrust that nails that mark inside Richard, leaving him a writhing mess.

“Touch yourself.”

Graham’s voice is more a growl than anything else, and Richard feels a sharp thrill at it. He moans in the next breath as he grasps his own cock, molten pleasure quickly pooling deep in his loins. Graham enjoys watching him, so Richard shows off for him. It is their little secret, their shared, jealously-guarded knowledge that Richard enjoys the attention from his lover and thrives upon it. He pumps himself now, long, fleshy pulls over his rigid cock to keep himself just on the cusp of completion – but not tipping over until Graham wants him to come. And he groans aloud, forgetting about discretion, and _wanting_ to be heard.

If anything, it _spurs_ Graham on. His hands dig into Richard’s hips, yanking his buttocks back into each brutal lunge. A whimper squeezes out of Richard’s throat. God, he’s not going to last.

“You make the sweetest sounds.”

A few more of those sounds escape Richard’s lips. “Graham…” he murmurs, the closest to pleading as he can possibly get.

“Not yet,” Graham warns, picking up the pace now, the bed beneath them creaking in protest with each rock and jostle of two large, male bodies.

Finally, somewhere around them, Dean O’Gorman _sobs_ as he comes. Aidan Turner follows close behind with his own yells.

Then _silence_.

Graham smirks victoriously against the nape of Richard’s neck.  “Go ahead now. I’m watching. Show me.”

Eyes falling close, Richard’s hand speeds up over his erection, his wrist snapping, a whine thrumming in his voice as the tension stretches unbearably tight in his loins. He sees only sparks behind the black of his vision, and in his blindness, he _feels_ Graham’s palm cupping his testes and massaging them in encouragement. Crying out desperately, he empties himself, his shaft straining in his hand, spurting all over his belly and chest.

Panting and near mindless from his orgasm, Richard keeps his hand on Graham’s hip. His lover’s thrusts grow urgent, and Richard turns his face to meet Graham’s lips as he comes, swallowing the older man’s deep, roughened sighs. Some noises Richard allows to outsiders, but others he keep for himself. What Graham sounds like at the peak of his passion is only for Richard’s ears, and this doesn’t change even in the midst of a voyeuristic kink.

They take their moment to rest and breathe, taking simple enjoyment in the feel of limbs wrapped around one another. Then, Graham moves off to toss the rubber, and returns with a warm washcloth. Richard chuckles inwardly, not bothering in the least to lend a hand in the wiping down of their very sticky and messy bodies. He hears Graham grousing without any bite about someone taking the role of King a little too far, and responses by stretching out a hand and dragging his older lover back to bed.

Entwined and lazily warm, they slide back under the covers, and Richard takes a second to acknowledge the ache inside him. Good God he has no idea how he’s going to move tomorrow, and ruefully remembers Graham’s warning. But all of that fade in light of the one overriding emotion that he feels now:

Pure, unadulterated _smugness_.

++++++++++

It is not a happy day.

However wild and ecstatic and awesome the night before was, the morning after is almost always a challenge. Dean is knackered and his whole body feels like it’s been through the wringer, especially that location in his bloody arse. Yes, yes, he’s aware that he’d more than enthusiastically invited Aidan Turner to take a ploughing in there, but that doesn’t mean he has to be singing about it the next day. Being loaded and layered up as Fili barely helps, either.

He pivots on his feet to get to his mark, and holy fuck, _it stings in there like a bitch_. He nearly stumbles, and of course, Aidan is there to steady him. Helpful, yeah, and looking infuriatingly pleased with himself as well, that little bastard. Dean makes a vow to himself that the next time Aidan’s on that end of things, Dean’ll make him _cry_.

Then they are finally done with rehearsals and manage to make it to the rest tent, Dean stubbornly refusing to limp like a hurting virgin. They step into the tent and come to the awful realisation that there _is_ something worse than the morning after.

It’s the morning after _with_ Graham and Richard. Graham’s on his Conan-esque throne, brawny and completely fake arms crossed at his chest, and so insufferably Zen-like in the knowledge that yes, he owns the world right now. Richard is, well, _Richard_. His gait is measured and powerful and _not the least bit affected_ as he gets a few practice swings in with Orcrist.

Next to Dean, Aidan looks subdued and awestruck at the same time. He seems an inch away from bounding over to the older men and asking for pointers. Dean just wants to crawl into a corner and wither.

Looking up finally, Richard studies the younger lads intently for a moment, before his lips curl up in a slow, wicked smirk that is _not_ Thorin Oakenshield. He makes two near-imperceptible gestures with his fingers, then he drops his hand and continues with his task so naturally it’s as if he hasn’t just completely broken character.

The meaning, however, is loud and clear.

_One to McTavish/Armitage.  
_

_Zero to Turner/O’Gorman._

_finis  
_

* * *

_  
_

**Author's Note:**

> Yeeees...Armitish wins. Sorry Aidean, you know how much I adore you, but the combined power of Armitage and McTavish is too much even for me.


End file.
